


When In Rome, Do As the Romans Do

by thespiritsthatinvade



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), College Student Keith (Voltron), College Student Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting to Know Each Other, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Intimacy, Keith & Lance (Voltron) are Roommates, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, No Sex, POV Lance (Voltron), Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Snowed In, Texan Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespiritsthatinvade/pseuds/thespiritsthatinvade
Summary: Lance is stuck at in his dorm for winter break, with his enigmatic and closed off roommate, Keith, whom he barely talks to, much less hangs out with. After they both get snowed in on New Years Eve, they both decide attempt to get closer and open up to each other as they listen to the album Keith got for Christmas.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 23





	1. The Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is entirely self indulgent and gives me an excuse to over analyze Trilogy and fulfill my dreams of listening to this with someone I care about. Also any sex, additional drug use (outside of fic shenanigans)/abuse, and alcoholism are referenced in the songs, not the fic itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an introduction to the story! Hope you all enjoy.

Lance McClain could not believe this was happening.

As finals week had come and gone, leaving behind a world of stress and misery, Lance had been looking forward to going home for the holidays, to take a break from the hustle and bustle of college to go back home, into his old bed, into his mother's arms, and hopefully into a meal that wasn't Cup o'Noodles from the student store. Much to his dismay, however, the one year Lance was looking forward to going home was the year that his parents had planned to go on a 59-Day cruise to Singapore. In their heads, with all their 4 kids finally out of the house and a little free time on their hands, they decided they could use a much deserved vacation, without having to put up with long car rides or kids. With as much as they had hassled him his first year about calling them every day ("We got you a phone for a reason, now why don't you pick it up and use it once in a while to call your poor old parents."), they hadn't bothered to tell him until they were already a week into the cruise. When Lance got the call, he couldn't believe it! How many times had his parents made him cancel his very important plans for Christmas or New Years, so they could celebrate as a family? How many parties or opportunities to hang out with friends had he missed, only for his parents to up and go a fucking 59 day cruise without telling him? Lance instantly felt the familial backstabbing, and had been nursing his wounds ever since.

This unfortunate change of plans is what led him to staying on campus for the month long holiday break, and led him to being stuck with his roommate Keith Kogane.

Keith was an...interesting person, to say the least. When prompted as to why he was staying for the break, Keith had simply stated that his brother, who Lance guessed he lived with before, was on his honeymoon and as a broke-ass college student, he couldn't afford a plane ticket back home to Texas. Although they had got along for the majority of the semester, Lance had never truly connected with him. The both of them, after a few early on squabbles, had come to an unspoken agreement to mind their own respective businesses and not to become any more than comfortable acquaintances. The pair could small talk (Keith, in a much more condescending or seemingly annoyed tone every time), and they didn't need to know anything about each other or hang out together, they just needed to survive these two semesters with no further friction between them. This was an agreement that Lance was now regretting. With the rest of campus being pretty much empty, they were stuck with each other's uninterrupted company anytime they were in the dorm, which was pretty often.

As two basically broke college students who worked minimum wage and did not know how to cook who were quite poorly attempting to keep the peace while holed up in a college dorm room, they were getting along surprisingly well, and that is to say that at the bare minimum, they had not ripped each other to shreds. Lance had stocked up on cereal, and when he wasn't at work, he was binging some old TV comedy or playing whatever video game he had as he listened to whatever came up on the radio of his old stereo. Lance, who formerly outwardly rejected any song that appeared more than twice on the radio per day, had developed something like affection towards these Top 40s Hits that sound-tracked his virtual exhibitions or killing sprees. The same could not be said for Keith, however. In the earliest of their squabbles so far, of course over Lance playing his music too loud, Keith had angrily proclaimed that he would not be caught dead listening to any modern (and as he put it bastardized) pop music. So for the entire three weeks that had passed, Keith had been holed up in his room, loud bass and punk music leaking out every time he opened the door, with the perpetual smell of cigarette smoke and weed following him, and all Lance had seen him make microwave meals (exclusively the Pioneer Woman Beef and Bacon meatloaf) and Cup Of Noodles for virtually all his meals so far. The one time Keith had offered him some, Lance had kindly turned it down, favoring any other microwave meal he could get other than some adulterated Food Network version of a meatloaf. Lance wasn't even sure where Keith worked or what he even did in the hours he wasn’t in their dorm . They only ran into each other when they were both coming from or going to work and at breakfast, when one or the other attempted to make some sort of meal, sometimes to share and almost always not. One or the other would attempt to make some kind of small talk, which one or the other would politely participate in, Keith with much more friction, probably due to the fact that Keith never seemed to sleep. Even with his constant state of tiredness and the countless times during the year, Lance had seen him sprawled out sleeping in or on various parts of the dorm. Now, the sounds of music never seemed to cease, even in the wee hours of the morning. Of course, Lance had no room to judge, as he had just carried over his finals schedule to the break and now only survived on naps and the few hours of sleep he'd get every odd night.

Besides much of his human contact coming from work or his roommate, Lance, at least, was blessed to attend a university in a big city with many bars and clubs, where he had spent both Christmas Eve and Day in whatever cheap club or open bar he could find within a 20 mile radius. He had clubbed, drank, and celebrated his holidays with virtual strangers, a thought that would have depressed the hell out of him if he hadn't simultaneously been having the time of his life.

Unfortunately, his luck had run out, as the day he'd needed to go out most, New Years Eve, had brought forth an enormous, event wrecking snowstorm. The local pop radio station hosts had been talking about it all week, but Lance had doubted it would ever come to fruition, as did many of the other snow storm warnings over the course of that winter. Lance had been so, so, so fucking wrong. Looking out at the piling snow, Lance's mood soured further, watching his plans blow away with the snowflakes. Lance had been planning to club hop, find someone to stick around with, and, maybe if he was lucky, someone to have a New Year's kiss with. Lance now figures that his plans would include nursing whatever drink he had, whether it be water or soda or alcohol (he'd preferred alcohol), and watching the New Years countdown on TV. He slides down from the window and sinks into the old brown (slightly smelly) couch. Reaching for the remote on the slightly sticky coffee table, he flipped on the TV and propped his feet up, getting comfortable as an act of fully accepting his loneliness for tonight. Oh old brown couch that is extremely disgusting, you are my only companion in this long winter night, Lance thought, dramatic even to himself. Just as he found the channel for the Times Square New Years celebration and slips into a comfortable yet wary position on the couch, the door burst open, letting in a gust of wind, cold, and snow as Keith stumbles into their dorm, wrapped in what looked like two coats and clutching a cardboard package. 

"KEITHWHATTHEFUCKCLOSETHEFUCKINGDOOR." Lance yells, lunging from the couch to shut the door. Oh what a poor choice it was, Lance briefly contemplated, for him to be wearing shorts right now. 

"I'M FUCKING TRYING TO." Keith screams back, pushing against the monstrous winds to shut the door. Lance finally reaches the door, pushing with his shoulder as Keith pushed back into the door. At last, the door shuts with a defining bang, and Lance hurried to lock and bolt the door as Keith scrambles through the living room, kicking off his boots, a coat, and three jackets as he made his way to the kitchen. 

"Keith, what the hell was that about? Why the fuck were you even out?" Lance honestly hadn't even know Keith wasn't there, having ignored the boy for much of the time between Christmas Day and tonight. Keith ignores him as he started opening and shutting drawers and cabinets. 

"Can you help me find something to open this with?" he yells over the clatter, still clutching the package in one arm, the other furiously whipping around to the various items in each drawer. 

"Keith, why the fuck were you out in the middle of a goddamn snowstorm?" 

"Well, I didn't know there was going to be a fucking snowstorm, so may you please shut the fuck up and help me- got it!" He pulls a knife out of the cabinet (undoubtedly where Lance had accidentally put the knife holder after it almost set on fire whilst trying to make a home-cooked meal the previous week). Keith, wild hair, package, knife, and all, flies from the kitchen and disappears into his room. He pops his head out and gestures frantically to Lance's room.

"Could I use your stereo for a bit?"

"First of all, no, and second of all, what. The hell. WAS THAT?" 

Keith throws his hands up and turns to go in, slamming the door behind him. Lance turns away, but suddenly, Keith's door is yanked open as he squeezes out his room and begins to march his way. 

Lance backs up as Keith grabs his forearm and leads him to his room. Lance stumbles in, briefly gazing longingly at the couch and his former comfort as the door shuts behind him. When Lance finally turns around, Keith was sitting cross legged on the floor, ripping open the package, plastic and cardboard being sliced through like wet clay.

"Keith, what the hell do you want? What is up with all this..." Lance awkwardly gestures around. Keith looks up from figuring out the enigma of opening the package to give Lance a determined stare, a stare that made Lance's heart jump a bit. 

"Late Christmas gift from my brother, Shiro." He said, and as he returns to try to open the package, Lance catches a smile on his face. Hold up, Lance doesn't think he's ever seen Keith smile, or at least not off the top of his head. But here he was, Mr. Grumpy himself, grinning like, well, a child on Christmas morning. Lance shuffles uncomfortably, feeling extremely out of place in his roommate's room, though quite rightfully so. 

"Okay, that's cool and all, but what does it have to do with me, I mean, a. I have never even been inside your room and b. You have barely talked to me the entirety of the Christmas season." 

Keith shrugs, "I don't know, it's just- look." He looks up again clearly annoyed (either with him or the packaging, Lance couldn't tell)

"I thought since we have never legitimately hung out-"

"Only because you have turned down all of my offers!" Lance retorts.

Keith waves him off, "I know, I know, I just thought, for a moment, since we're both snowed in and you obviously don't have any plans, we could, I don't know, do something." 

Lance looks at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. Keith groans and begins to rip open the plastic contents of the package. 

"Sounds like someone's finally opening up-" Lance gets cut off by a pillow being thrown at him. 

"Ugh shut it, just, fucking hell," Keith insisted rolling his eyes. "Just sit down, like, wherever I guess." 

Lance ambled over to the rocking wooden office chair, that of course comes with the extremely shitty wooden desks that are in each and every dorm room. 

"How do I know this is legit?"

"Excuse me?"

Lance leans back, folding his hands together. "I mean like are you gonna pull a Carrie White on me and ditch me as soon as school starts or blackmail me with nudes or my browser history?" 

"What-where would I even get either of those?" 

"I'm just saying, " Lance huffs. 

"Okay, look." Keith finally ceases the incessant mutilation of plastic to hold up a CD case, tapping on the front. "This-I've wanted this on CD for so long, and as many times as I've listened to it, I've always wanted to share it with someone else so..I was wondering if you'd want to listen to it with me?" 

They both stare at each other for a long time, but Lance's composure breaks as he cracks a smile. Keith's expression sours for a moment as he begins to put the CD down "Never mind." Keith says gruffly, turning away but Lance leans down.

"Wait, I mean it's a nice proposition but I just wanna know what I'm getting myself into." He leans in and tilts the CD in his direction. Keith begins to protest, but Lance doesn't take it from him, instead observing the album from where he is currently seated. 

"Trilogy by...the Weeknd?"

Keith looks incredulous by the questioning nature of Lance's tone. 

"Do you not know who the Weeknd is?" 

"Shut up, of course I know who the Weeknd is. He did all those songs for "Fifty Shades of Gray." 

Keith shakes his head so forcefully, his hair whips around his face. 

"Hell no, I mean yes, but absolutely no. NO. He's done so much more than soundtracks, he is a lyrical genius, and look-," Keith turns his body so he faces Lance. "He made so much more, and quite frankly, better music than what you've heard on the radio by him." 

Lance rolls his eyes. "Sure, okay." 

"Lance, I'm serious." Lance's eyes settle on him and their eyes meet, feeling the pin pricking familiarity of the rush of someone calling you by name in a casual conversation or even just acknowledging you, something Keith has barely done inside or outside their dorm. "This album is life changing. Please." The mood changed as they looked at each other, Keith's face entirely stoic, but his eyes gave him away entirely, he was pleading. Pleading? Pleading isn't something Lance would expect out of a guy like Keith, but he is. For what? Why did he want to show him something this important to himself, why him? He barely even knew the guy, no matter how much he wanted to. He had given up on any future attempt at connecting with him when they made that agreement, so what changed? 

Lance thought about it for a minute, then shrugs, tossing the pillow aside.

"What, just say it?" Keith spat, and Lance looks down at him and grins. 

“Okay, you've twisted my arm by promising me a life changing experience so, I'm in." 

Keith’s eyes light up, and Lance claps him on the shoulder. "Okay, great, I was hoping to start by around 10:30 so we could finish at midnight-." 

“Mkay, mkay,” Lance cuts in “So I’ll be right back, I'll get some snacks or whatever, you get whatever we need, and you call me in when you're ready to start." Lance says as he walks out his room.

“Uh, okay, just be back before 10:20 at the latest.” Keith calls after him.


	2. I Swear I'm Right Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see :))  
> Songs: High for This-Wicked Games

Lance closes his door and turns to check the time.

The small alarm clock’s numbers light up the time: 10:13 pm. 

He starts pacing his room, trying to process what just happened. He stops in front of his mirror, a stupid annoyingly excited grin plastered across his face. What the hell was he so excited for? 

This was the same guy that had bickered, ignored, and avoided Lance for the entirety of the time they were roommates, why was he so willing to let all that go just because he all of a sudden wanted to hang out? 

Lance turns away and starts collecting his things. He knows why, but he doesn’t want to admit it, even in his head, for dignity’s sake. 

He was not about to admit that he, Lance McClain, had the tiniest, eensy little crush on Keith. Nope. 

He picks up his stereo and pauses. 

Fuck, he thinks to himself, nope, I’m just excited he’s opening up, that I finally have something better to do than get shitfaced alone on the couch. He nods to himself, yup that’s all there is. He begins to take mental inventory of everything: a half empty bag of barbecue chips, an unopened bottle of tequila and Sprite he was saving for a special occasion (the special occasion being the end of finals, though he forgot), a blanket from off his bed, and, of course, his stereo. Satisfied with his haul, he makes his way to the door and wrestles with the knob before finally getting it open.

He knocks on Keith’s door before struggling to open it too, trying to keep the bottles from falling out of his arms. Finally, the door opens. Lance quickly drops the bottles, chip bag, and stereo on the closest clear surface he can find, being Keith’s almost overcrowded desk. 

Keith lets out an easy laugh, one single note. “What’s all that for?”

“I mean you’re gonna need drinks and shit for an listening party, right?” Lance gestures with his blanket before draping it over the chair. “Also, you could have helped me with the door,"

Keith shoots him a sour look. “I was trying to make my room acceptable for guests.”

“I’m not a guest, we’ve been living together for five months.” It was true that Lance had never really been in Keith’s room, but that’s besides the point. 

“I guess. Anyways it is probably good you brought all of that, it is three hours long-”

“Three hours?” Lance yells. 

“Yeah, well actually it’s more like two and a half hours, but I said from now to midnight.”

“But still, why is it so long?” Lance huffs, remembering that he didn’t pick up any cups.

“It’s three separate mixtapes,” Keith explains. “House of Balloons, Thursday, and Echoes of Silence.”

“So why can’t they just be three separate albums?” 

Keith throws up his hands. “I don’t know why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“You know what, maybe I will.” Lance points to the door. "Imma be right back, gotta get some cups. You can plug in the stereo or whatever, the CD button is the one in the middle.”

About two songs into the album, Lance felt like Keith might be regretting this.

For one, the album seemed more like something to listen to with someone you're trying to fuck, or anything other than with a guy you’ve barely talked to all semester (Lance was wondering how Keith was taking this all so well, after acting like Lance had eaten the last slice of cake at his birthday party for most of the semester). Second, with how adamant Keith had been on listening to the album with him, Lance had expected some professional level commentary about the lyrics, whatever the Weeknd had been talking about for the last two songs, anything really. All Keith had done was silently accept his drink (he didn’t even comment about the fact that both the tequila and Sprite were lukewarm at best, Lance really should have gotten ice too, he hadn’t even taken a sip yet) and fidget with the cup. 

Keith had been right, however, this was not the Weeknd Lance had been hearing on every radio station and stupid thirst trap for the past few years. It was the same subject matter, sure, but it was more narrative than explicit. The sex only propelled the album’s story, whatever it was supposed to be. 

“You okay over there?” Lance finally asks.

Keith starts, having zoned out, and fumbles with his drink a little. “Yeah sorry,” He sets his drink on his bedside table and rubs his eyes. “Long day.”

“No worries, just wondering.” 

“Yeah.” Keith stops and thinks for a moment. “Fuck it.” He gets up right when the song changes (Thank goodness, the last song had been unbearably sexual and thus awkward to sit through), and starts rummaging in his jacket pockets. 

Silent synths fill the air as he pulls out a small white and purple baggie and a red lighter. He opens the bag and pulls out a half smoked blunt. He shimmies off his jacket and moves to open the window as Lance slides out of the chair and onto the floor. 

Sitting back down, Keith places the blunt in his mouth and lights it. He puts the lighter down and takes one deep (painful looking) hit. He holds it out to Lance. 

He scoots closer and takes it, him and Keith making eye contact, Keith’s eyes blocked by the small smoke tendrils escaping from his lungs. Lance grins as he leans back against the bed frame. Keith gets up and, hands on the windowsill, exhales out the window, snowflakes blocked out by the screen separating them from the now desolate, cold buildings outside. 

Lance takes his own hit, his throat burning (It’d been so long since he’s smoked weed) and he coughs a bit. 

“So this is what you’ve been doing all of winter break.”

Keith looks back, a small smile on his face. “What,” 

“Sitting in your room, smoking, and listening to music all night?” Lance coughs a little more and gets up to join Keith by the windowsill. 

“Yeah, among other things.” Keith says. Lance feels his eyes on him as he exhales, and the song changes. He’d barely been paying attention to the last one, but this one was filled with guitars that floated through the room as he exhaled the smoke into the cold. He faces Keith (So close now, too close almost) and passes the blunt back. Lance notices that Keith was mouthing the lyrics a bit as he turns and places it back in his mouth. Lance suddenly became aware that he was sharing a blunt with a guy who has barely talked to him all year. They had gone from arguing only a few days before to being huddled together passing a blunt between the two of them. 

“How many times have you listened to this album?” 

“A few times, I listen to a lot of songs off of it pretty often though.” Keith talks through the smoke letting it leave his mouth in puffs before he blows the rest through the screen. He turns around to lean his frame against the sill, seeming noticeably more relaxed. As Lance took another hit, he realized all the weed was doing so far was making the music louder and making him realize he had something between his lips that had been on Keith’s. What did they call that, an indirect kiss? Lance blinked the thought away as his eyes burned from the smoke.

“So what’s the deal with the album?” He asks, the lyrics melting through the atmosphere, the room seeming way warmer than it was with the window open. 

“Hm? Oh like the story?” Keith seemed out of focus again, hands buried in the sleeves of his long sleeve. 

“Yeah, it seems like there’s a flow to all the songs,” Lance says, waving away Keith’s offer of another hit as he moves to take a seat on Keith’s bed. “Like is he talking about the same girl in all the songs?” 

“Yeah, at least in this part.” He places the blunt back between his lips, letting it dangle there as he listens intently to the song. “Some of the songs could have another meaning and they could very well be about different girls in each song, but this part of it is about him and these girls, in this setting filled sex and drugs and partying, and how it’s affecting him, no matter how bad it is for him.” 

“Wow,” Lance says, the high finally setting in as the air becomes molasses. His lungs feel heavy and his surroundings melt together, movement streaks dance through his vision. He scoots back to lean against the wall, knowing with his low tolerance that he was done with moving for the next few hours

“Part of it is also how he’s cheating on this girl, like listen.” Keith points at the stereo, “I left my girl back home, I don’t love her no more.” He sings along with the singer’s crooning vocals, voice heavy and scratchy. Lance’s eyes stay glued to him as Keith gives him a goofy grin that Lance returns. “He sounds so hurt in the song.” Lance exhales. 

Keith nods. “He is. Through the entire album, he drowns out his need to be loved with drugs and sex, no matter who it hurts.” 

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Keith says, going to grab the already crowded ashtray off his desk and puts out the blunt before slipping it back into the Swisher bag. Lance watches lazily as he moves to close the window and, instead of sitting back in his original spot next to his bed, turns the desk chair around and sits on it. He places his chin on the back of the chair and hugs it, melting into his high comfortably and deeply. He hums along to the vocals as Lance stares out the window at the snowflakes, falling like stray confetti from the dark sky.


End file.
